


Golden

by vatnalilja



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatnalilja/pseuds/vatnalilja
Summary: The Sole Survivor has saved the Commonwealth with the help of the Minutemen and the Railroad, but how does one move on when life starts to approach something that seems almost normal? Without the Institute serving as a boogeyman, Deacon also finds himself in a strange position without a grand purpose for the first time in a very long while. Without constant, dangerous distractions, the two best friends begin to realize maybe they mean more to each other than they initially thought.Sole Survivor follows the general pre-war story, but is otherwise a semi-generic reader stand-in. See notes for more.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Reader, Deacon/Female Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff in Chapter 1, smut in Chapter 2  
> (mostly fluff)
> 
> As always, I have tried to keep the Sole Survivor as generic as possible--no name, no skin color, no hair/eye color, etc. What comes through is my bias/writing style and some references to other characters. I've tried not to make too many decisions for the Sole Survivor other than a) she obviously went with the Railroad over the other factions and b) she's true to the canon background (was an attorney, etc.).
> 
> I want the character to be as much as a stand-in for the reader or the reader's version of the Sole Survivor as possible (and not an OC).

She'd been away for a whole season. Spring had already come and gone and she had spent it all on Far Harbor, drenched from head to toe, freezing her ass off with Valentine. When she stepped foot back on the shore of Boston proper, she was ready for summer, whatever the hell that meant in a post-nuclear apocalypse.

She had many people to check on and it was only a matter of time before word got around that she was back on the mainland. But she wasn't about to leave Nicky on the beach, so they made their way to Diamond City together, chatting as easily as ever along the way as Dogmeat swirled around their ankles, barking happily.

Home plate was dark and dusty, but it was otherwise how she left it. After washing up and changing clothes, she wandered down to the Dugout to bullshit with the Bobrovs and get something to eat. She knew they would keep her all evening, but she didn't mind--the moonshine and laughter made the hours flow by seamlessly. There were times she forgot entirely about life before the bombs, as if she had always lived in the Wasteland. This was one of them.

The late May night was just warm enough when she left the bar, or maybe it was the booze. It didn't matter. She didn't have far to go and she was in a good mood. That mood skyrocketed when she saw a figure leaned against her front door, arms crossed over his chest, trying to look cool and generally pulling it off. It was the sunglasses in the middle of the night that made him look a bit ridiculous.

"Deacon," she said. "You heard I was back, huh?"

"I'm wounded," he said, pushing the tips of his fingers into his chest. "You got back into town and didn't even call your best friend."

He immediately smiled and slapped her arm.

"Just kidding. I brought some beer, but you look like you're doing alright."

"Bobrovs, man," she said.

He took her keys from her and unlocked the front door, swinging it open. Once inside, she launched herself face-first into her bed while he locked up behind them and wrestled with Dogmeat for a few moments. He then fetched a can of water, cracked it open, and brought it to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. She rolled over onto her side and looked at him.

"What's this look called? Fifties fishmonger?" she asked, hooking her finger into the grey, woolen knit cap.

"It's a work in progress," he said. "Hey, watch it."

She pawed at his cap, having caught a glimpse of something curious, and sat up. He didn't make any real attempt to fight her off, laughing as she groped at him. When the cap came off in her hands, she gasped so audibly that it seemed staged.

"Okay, let's not be dramatic," he said.

"Is this real?" she asked, running her fingers through his orange, shaggy hair.

"Yeah, it's real," he said.

"No shit."

"I'm not lying. I promise," he said. "Look."

He pulled his sunglasses off and blinked heavily a few times, then stared straight into her eyes as he held his hand up, palm out.

"Not lying. Scout's honor," he said.

"I don't even recognize you," she whispered. "I mean, the chin and the nose are all the same, but geez Deacon. You're actually a pretty good looking guy."

"Whatever happened to 'bald is beautiful'?" he asked, handing her the water.

"Just when I think you can't surprise me anymore," she said, stopping to drain the can in several large gulps.

She chucked the can across the room and pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his torso tightly. He returned her hug and let out a long sigh of relief, resting his chin on her shoulder. When she left for Far Harbor and didn't take him along, a small part of him panicked. First, he worried she would get herself killed and that'd be it--his first real friend in god knows how long would be gone. Then he panicked that she left him behind because she actually wanted to get rid of him, that she was disgusted by him and he imagined their friendship to begin with. Then he just panicked.

"It's good to see you," she said as she ran her hand through his hair again. "Even if I'm not sure it's you."

"Yeah. I didn't miss you or anything, you know. Just happy to see you're in one piece."

"Mmm, that's a lie," she said, sitting back slightly to give him a look that told him he was full of shit. "Look at these beautiful baby blues. Do me a favor and stop wearing those goddamn sunglasses so much."

"You don't seem that drunk," he said.

"Deacon, don't act like you weren't expecting a reaction," she said.

"What, nah. To this? I just let myself go."

"You even shaved," she said, patting his smooth jaw. "And you smell pretty good."

"You say the nicest things."

He was trying to play it off, but he couldn't help but smile at her attention. She squeezed his arm and collapsed back into her bed. Dogmeat crawled up with her and set his head on her hip, staring at Deacon.

"Gosh, you two are just adorable," he said. "Alright. I'll let you sleep. See you in the morning."

"Where you going?"

"Dugout?"

"Nah," she said, snagging the cuff of his sleeve. "This bed is big enough for two BFFs and a dog."

"You sure?" he asked. "I've seen the way you sleep. It's intense."

"Shut up and get in bed," she said, tugging on him.

"She's drunk," he said, looking at the dog, who whined in response.

But he didn't argue. The two of them curled up in her bed with Dogmeat between them and he asked her a few questions about Far Harbor. She couldn't make it far into her tale before being distracted by either his hair or her exhaustion. Eventually, she drifted off mid-sentence.

"Don't leave me behind for so long again, huh?" he said, watching her face relax as she slept.

It had taken him this long to trust anyone, to get close to anyone, to have someone he could lose again. But the way he felt about her was completely different than Barbara. He had loved Barbara more than anything in the whole fucking world. That had been the type of love that hit you over the head like a bag of bricks. It was the type of love that made you go blind with rage and kill an entire gang.

With her, he couldn't define it as easily. He trusted her. With everything. He had to remind himself of that every damn night she was away and have the fucking confidence that he hadn't misplaced that trust. Looking at her now, it was easy to write off all of that anxiety. He wouldn't ever have those doubts again.

Plus, she was pretty cute. Totally not his type, but still pretty cute.

He rolled onto his back and yawned. As his eyes closed, he felt her hand slip onto his chest. He clasped his own hand over it, running his thumb across her fingers. His body sunk into her bed, ready for the first night of decent sleep in a long time.

"I can't get over it," she said, glancing at him as they left Cambridge for the more rural parts of outer Boston.

He pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and grinned, sliding a sideways look at her. He was eating up her attention and she knew it. She'd been gone for months and hell, the guy needed some compliments.

"No point in hiding anymore, you know?" he said. "So what pre-war movie star do I look like most?"

She snorted sharply.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," she said.

"You've been looking at me all morning. You've got a thing for redheads. That's it, isn't it?"

"You look ten years younger. You have this..."

She twirled her hands in the air as she searched for words.

"Boyish charm to you now."

"So what was his name? Tommy? Jimmy? Oh, I know!" he said as he snapped his fingers. "Mikey."

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"The cute neighbor boy you had a crush on that I remind you of," he said. "You went to the winter ball together. That's shit you did back before the war, right? Go to high school dances?"

"You lead a rich inner life," she said.

He swung his arm over her shoulders, walking with her hip-to-hip.

"Give the details. I want the gossip. Who was your first kiss? How perfect was it, not being in an irradiated hellscape?"

"It was fine," she said with a laugh. "It was... a kiss. He was a nice guy. Not really my type, but he was sweet. He'd wait for me after school to walk me home. My mom liked him but he was..."

He peered at her as she paused, lifting his brow.

"He was what?" he asked, poking her opposite ear with his index finger.

She looked back at him, neither of their steps faltering, and laughed again.

"A real daydreamer. He was full of stories."

He nodded a few times but withheld whatever comments he may have had.

"Before you feel the need to ask, he had brown eyes and brown hair," she said.

"Why would I feel the need to ask?" he asked with a sputtering laugh. He wasn't selling it.

"You are so very charming, Deacon," she said. "Everyone in Far Harbor is so fucking serious, everything is so goddamn dire. I really did miss you."

She wrapped her hand around his waist.

"I missed you, too," he said, his voice softer than he intended. "Someone has to fret over you, right? You should have called, though."

"I'll send holotapes next time," she said.

"Or... just bring me along."

"Deal."

He shot her a grin that stretched from ear to ear, one that meant he was going to hold her to her word. Now that she looked at him, she tried to figure out why she ever left him behind in the first place. Seemed like a huge oversight on her part. She wasn’t going to admit that to him, though.

They were at Sanctuary Hills just before dinnertime and Sturges made the biggest fuss the moment he laid eyes on her walking up the road. He promptly found food and kept putting it out for them until they had their fill. Once he was satisfied they could eat no more, he put several cold beers in their packs and handed her the key for Red Rocket, which was immaculate--the Quincy mechanic had been keeping the place in order while she was gone, and he had gone above and beyond his duty. It helped he loved working on power armor away from the settlement, in the quiet calm of the old station.

"Home sweet home," she said as she flipped the lights on.

"It's been a while," Deacon said as he sat heavily on her old sofa. "Beer?"

"Ugh. No, after last night?" she asked.

She sat down next to him and sighed with her entire body.

"Still feeling it, huh?"

"That vodka is extremely impure," she said.

The walk from Diamond City to Sanctuary normally took about six hours. She had gotten out of bed late and took an extra hour, along with a short stop at Starlight. She may have laughed the entire way, but she wasn't in peak condition. Thankfully, the Minutemen had kept the roads safe while she was gone, even if anyone was foolish enough to fuck with her.

With a groan, she laid down, resting her head on his thighs. He readjusted his lap to make it more comfortable, not once considering moving her away from him. His fingers found her hair, combing through it carefully as he looked down at her.

"Can I ask you a serious question?" he asked.

"Sure."

"There's one thousand guys out here trying to shack up with you and at least four of them are decent. Why haven't you gotten together with any of them?"

She sighed again and stared at the wall across from her for a good thirty seconds before she rolled onto her back and looked back up at him. It wasn't just the hair that made him look different. His face had changed, and not just his features, but something deeper. After he had been straight with her, after he stopped lying and started to figure out how to be himself again, it simply changed. She assumed it had something to do with all of the tension he had been carrying.

She reached up and touched his cheek, tracing its line back to his ear.

"It was decades ago, but to me, it felt like eight months ago... I helplessly watched a group of men murder my husband. And even though I got my revenge, I still don't have Nate. And I was robbed of my life with Shaun."

"It was a stupid question. I, of all people, should have known better than to ask," he said.

She gave him a smile that was tinged with sadness.

"If you had a woman who was interested in you, would it be the same for you?" she asked.

"It's been a lot longer than eight months for me, but I don't know that I'll ever get over it," he said with a certain gravity she rarely heard from him.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"I'm not gonna tell," he said, quickly changing back to his comfortable smirk. "Why? You interested in ol' Deacon?"

"What conversation are we having here?" she asked.

"One about how we're both emotionally traumatized," he said, patting her head gently. "Not trying to be a smart ass here, for once. I know you don't like to talk about what happened to your husband, but if you need to..."

"And here I was, worried I'd lose him in the war," she said softly. "Like every other soldier's wife. They show up at your door with a flag and a letter. They try to let you down easy. I prepared myself for that. Not for being cryogenically frozen for over two hundred years and then watching a hitman from an underground CIT murder him in the process of kidnapping my infant son."

The first sound that came out of her was a laugh. It quickly morphed into a pained wail, her face contorting into a pained mask. He pulled her up into his arms, not missing a beat. He recognized what she was feeling right away. Their stories were different, but the tragedy was the same. He felt her tears stream against his neck as she buried her face against him, her chest racked with heavy, sobs that were more gasps than crying.

He felt his stomach drop out from under him and squeezed his eyes tight. Months went by without all of the loss and sorrow bubbling up inside of him. Often, he could simply acknowledge what happened to Barbara like it had been someone else's life. Then there were times it hit him like it happened just yesterday. Like right now. All of her raw pain caught him in the gut like someone had just kicked him.

He held onto her even tighter.

Neither of them were sure how long they sat like this, but she had a terrible headache by the time she let him go. She wiped her eyes on her arm and looked at him, then stood and disappeared into her bedroom. She returned with an old towel and after wiping her eyes with one end, she set to work on his face, wiping his dry as well.

"Oh Deacon," she said, her voice exhausted.

"Don't mind me," he said, taking the towel from her.

"You can't stop me," she said, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

"No problem," he said.

He idly flapped the towel against his leg and looked at the floor. She didn't press him, it was enough that he had been there for her. She ran her hand through his hair once, then mussed it as she stood back up. He flicked her lightly with the towel and sat against the sofa as she disappeared into her room once again.

"Fuck," he muttered, his thoughts disorganized as his body seemed to pull him into several different directions.

He pulled the piece of cloth by its opposite ends as he started in on his familiar rationalizations, but they were starting to break down. He was too aware to truly fool himself, but he told himself all the same old things about how he felt about her. For old time's sake.

She was ready to sleep sooner rather than later and crawled into the old bed she had pulled from the vault what felt like a lifetime ago. Once she was under her blankets, she had called his name, summoning him to the doorway of what had once been the office of the old Red Rocket. When she asked if he'd like to share her bed, he answered by crawling in with her.

As he lay with his arm draped over her waist, spooned up against her back, he spent more time wondering what type of friendship they actually had. After all, he had an abysmal understanding of what real friendship was. It wasn't what he had with the UP Deathclaws, and he did his best to keep folks in the Railroad at arm's length. They all did.

It always came back to Barbara. He hated comparing the two of them, but in the end, he had no other point of reference. Still, they were nothing alike. Barbara had taken his breath away, made him dizzy. This woman had the opposite effect--she made him feel completely safe, soothed his frazzled nerves.

Maybe there was no point in defining it.

Maybe he was better off just not trying to figure it out so damn hard.

Maybe he should just stop trying to rationalize for one fucking second.

"Deacon."

"Are you still awake?" he asked.

"You're thinking so hard, you're filling the whole damn room," she said.

"Shit, that bad, huh? Hey, in how many of those buddy cop films do they cuddle at night? Like, eighty percent? Ninety?"

"Would you like to sleep on the sofa?"

"No way," he said, pulling her in tighter against him. "Just looking for an easy way to classify our relationship."

She was quiet for a few moments, her hand finding his draped over her side.

"I'm fine with 'best friends'," she said. "Whatever that means for us."

"Okay, so, those buddy cop films."

She chuckled, rolling onto her back. She couldn't see him, the room was so dark, but she could tell exactly where he was. He shifted his weight, propping himself up on his elbow next to her.

"What about them?" she asked.

"What percentage of them did the buddy cops kiss?"

She stopped to actually think whether there were any, in an effort to ruin his joke, but before she could come up with anything, his lips were on hers. His kiss was light, as if he wasn't quite sure it was a good idea, but she returned it almost instantly. With her favorable response, he leaned in a bit more, just barely. After a minute or so, he broke away, but gave her a few along her cheek and temple as he sat back up.

"I can't think of any," she said. "But we're not cops. We're spies. And they kiss all of the time in spy movies. Even when they hate each other. Hey, Deacon."

"Yup."

"I don't know what this is either. I just know I feel safe with you," she said. "Even back when you tried to feed me all that bullshit."

"What if some of it wasn't bullshit? Ever think about that?"

She grabbed a piece of his flesh at his waist and tweaked it. There wasn't much to grab onto, he was quite fit.

"Ow, hey," he said with a laugh, grabbing her wrist. "But seriously. It didn't take long hanging out with you to realize I was going to like you, too. You always had a way of making me feel like I was in the right place. Annnnd it's not often I meet someone who sees right through my BS."

"Mmm, I like your voice," she said. "Have I ever told you that?"

"You have not."

"You have this very laid-back cadence. It makes you sound pretty cool."

"Come on, I am pretty cool. You want proof? Of all the guys in the Commonwealth, it's _me_ that's lying in bed with _you_. If you chose me, I've gotta be cool," he said. "And we're not even naked. Man, they'd all really hate me right now if they knew we're not even naked."

"I like being with you," she said, her voice nearly a murmur.

"Ditto," he said, leaning in to kiss her again.

She cupped his face with her hands, holding him there, as if he needed encouragement to stay. This kiss lingered on much longer than the first, neither of them ready for it to end. He fell back onto his side next to her, rolling her onto her hip to face him so they could continue. They went on like this for longer than either of them realized, their kisses punctuated by his banter and her laughter, until they finally fell back asleep, her head tucked under his chin.

They could figure out the rest tomorrow, or maybe the day after that.


	2. Chapter 2

She sat staring at her Pip-Boy, which was off her wrist and sitting on the table in front of her. From it came the soft sound of Radio Freedom, its patriotic music humming quietly along. Every now and then, she took a sip from her Nuka-Cola, but other than that, she stayed still, just watching the green and black screen. They had been back at Red Rocket for days now and she had been restless.

Deacon pulled up a chair next to her and looked back and forth from the Pip-Boy to her a few times before leaning directly into her line of sight.

"Don't know what to do with yourself, huh?" he asked.

"They're completely self-sufficient," she said.

"I'm sure you'll have to whip them into shape at some point. They're bound to get way too big for their britches. All militaries do."

"What am I supposed to do then?" she asked, shifting her gaze to him.

"What you always do," he said, bumping his fists together as he made a knocking noise with his tongue.

"I'm not all brute force," she said with a laugh. "I have some charm, you know."

"Yeah you do. I've never seen anyone sweet talk Des the way you did."

He slung his arm around her shoulder.

"I did a number on you, too," she said.

"Woah woah, I think if you look back, it was me that charmed you," he said.

"I don't think so, Deacon," she said, giving him an unimpressed look.

He tightened his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him. She teetered half off her chair with a cry of protest, then began laughing as she wrapped her arms around his chest. Meeting her halfway, he moved his chair a few inches closer and pushed his face against the side of her head, kissing her temple.

"How's it feel?" he asked.

"How's what feel?

"Going days without murdering anything," he said.

"I don't like all the wanton destruction, you know."

"You just happen to be really amazing at it."

"Problems don't solve themselves," she said.

"What are you going for now that you've run out of problems?" he asked.

"I've still got you to deal with," she said, pushing him away from her with a grin.

His grip on her was too tight, she was unable to break free. He wrestled with her until she was off her chair and on his lap. With a huff, she straddled his legs so she was facing him and put her hands on his shoulders at the base of his neck, looking down into his baby blue eyes.

"Don't worry, the world will start falling soon enough. When it does, you can swoop in to the rescue," he said, squeezing the tops of her thighs.

"What do we do until then?" she asked.

"Have you ever tried relaxing?"

"No," she said. "Not since before law school."

"Well, here's what we do. I know you love renovating this old place. Why don't we take some time and make this place home? Since you're stuck here with us in the future," he said.

"Can't go back."

He was quiet for a bit, his fingers drifting up under the hem of her shirt. They found her waist and his thumbs ran along her skin, which felt like satin under his fingertips. His hands were calloused from years of work with the Railroad and generally living in the Wasteland.

"I'm going to hate the answer to this question, but... would you go back?" he asked.

"No," she said instantly. 

"You're fucking with me."

"I promise I'm not," she said as she ran a hand back through his red hair. "I lost a lot getting here, but my life has had more meaning now than it did back then. I've spent a lot of nights thinking about this question, Deacon, you have no idea."

"I think I do, actually," he said.

"Even if I could go back, the bombs are out of my control. I have to live with it," she said. "There's no fantasizing about changing my past. In a really fucked up way, I got lucky."

She leaned down and kissed him gently.

With a sigh, he kissed her back, letting himself be distracted. As the moments passed, he realized he had been pulling her down and toward his groin. Her weight on top of him felt amazing, so he wasn’t inclined to stop, even though it may not have been a great idea. She leaned into her kiss slightly and his hands on her waist tightened their grasp.

Up until that moment, all of their kisses had been warm and affectionate. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t imagined what sex with her was like, but he hadn’t felt any desire to push those boundaries. She seemed happy to do the same. This kiss was rapidly starting to push those boundaries with each new second. And the demands his body were now issuing were shutting out whatever protests his mind was trying to get through.

It was the sound of Garvey’s voice that made them both snap to, sitting up and turning to the Pip-Boy. 

_General, we’ve had word that you’re back on the mainland. If that’s true, I’d appreciate it if you’d come down to the Castle. I’d like to catch up._

He pulled his hands from underneath her shirt and motioned to the Pip-Boy.

“There you go. You didn’t have to wait long,” he said.

She grumbled and stood from his lap, strapping the device to her wrist.

“Almost didn’t recognize you without that thing on,” he added.

“What happened to relaxing?” she asked.

“We could head out tomorrow, spend the rest of the day around here.”

He watched her eyes light up as she snapped both sets of fingers.

“I got it,” she said. “There’s a wonderful spot up on the hill just west of here that’s perfect for watching the sunset. Provided it’s not covered in raiders or ferals, let's pack some food and go up there this evening.”

“Sure,” he said. “How many cans of Cram you want?”

She snorted and slapped his shoulder as she made her way past him toward her food storage. The call from Garvey put her in a better mood immediately, he could see that. He was also a bit thankful for the interruption--he wasn’t sure he would have stopped himself. Scratch that. He knew he wouldn’t have stopped himself. And he worried he might have regretted it down the line.

She spread the blanket out over the green grass and then set her pack down, stretching her arms and back. The walk hadn’t taken very long and the hill hadn’t tested either of their physiques, but the evening air was nice and nothing had bothered them along the way. It felt nice just to move around because she wanted to, not because anything required it.

“I don’t remember the last time I had a picnic,” he said as he sat, digging a cola out of her pack. “That’s some real 2070s shit.”

“I’m a real 2070s girl,” she said, sitting down next to him.

He smirked and handed her the first cola, then dug another one out for himself.

“We got up here just in time,” she said, pointing west toward the sun as it began to slide down the horizon, painting the sky all sorts of wonderful colors. “Some things don’t change.”

He twisted the top off his bottle and watched, falling quiet. Sitting on the top of a hill and drinking a soda just to watch a sunset wasn’t usually part of his routine, but he had to admit it was nice. Maybe twenty years ago, he would do more things like this, back when he was a farmer. Back when he was trying to change his life for the better. Things were a lot simpler back then.

With her arms draped over the tops of her knees, she watched alongside him, happy to just enjoy the silence. After a bit, she looked over at him, admiring his features. She didn’t know exactly how old he was, somewhere around forty, but he didn’t really look it, just around the eyes. Maybe he had some work done on his face after all, or maybe he just had good skin. Regardless, he’d still be plenty handsome even if he showed his age.

“She would have loved this,” he said quietly, staring out over the valley below them.

She blinked a few times and then felt her heart drop out from her chest. Her mouth opened and closed, but she had nothing to say, so she turned to look at Sanctuary behind them. Her eyes immediately focused on the mound, now covered in grass, that marked Nate’s grave. Tears sprung to the corners of her eyes and no amount of trying to talk herself out of it seemed to work. Her good mood was ruined and she had to get out of there.

Without facing him, she stood.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m not… feeling well,” she said. “Finish watching, I’ll go start a fire. Bring my pack, will you?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer before she started back down the hill.

He found her tending a fire she’d made in front of the Red Rocket garage doors, squatting and poking the logs with a stick, her chin resting in her hand. Her eyes were red and her face was puffy. He spent a lot of time looking at her face, so he knew when she was upset. He knew she’d been crying.

He squatted down next to her.

“Hey,” he said. “Something happened. You wanna tell me about it?”

She groaned.

“I feel petty,” she said. “It’s just that… we’re _close_. Earlier today, we were quite… _close_. And then I packed us up a picnic and took you to a nice spot to watch a sunset. And I’m sitting there, looking at your handsome face and you… mention your dead wife. And I try not to get upset, so I turn away and what’s the first thing I hone in on? My own damn dead husband’s grave.”

She gave the fire a firm poke, causing the logs to shift.

“Ah,” he said. “I bet it felt like I was up there with the wrong person.”

“It was immature of me,” she said. “Why would I be upset over your dead wife?”

“Because I hold a lot of room for her in my life,” he said.

He put his hand on top of her head.

“I am not used to this,” he continued. “For a long time, it’s just been me and memories of Barb. You being in my space is a new thing. And for the record, _I like it_. I’m just not going to be very good at it. Hell, I’m basically a born-again virgin.”

He got the laugh he wanted from her. With that, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and sat them both down in front of the fire. She leaned her head against him and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Thank you for bringing me up there,” he said. “And thank you for being frank with me.”

“I’m trying to figure out when I started having feelings for you, Deacon,” she said.

“Was it before or after you saw the red hair?” he asked.

She hummed in thought.

“Before.”

“Before or after The Big Talk?” he asked.

“After.”

“Damn, I thought I had you earlier than that,” he said. “So, sometime between my confessions and us saving the Commonwealth.”

“You were so excited and cute with all of that best friend talk,” she said, taking his hand into hers. “I think it did a number on me.”

“And then I showed up with red hair.”

“And then you showed up with red hair,” she said. “You know what I like about you, Deacon?”

He readjusted how he was sitting, getting more comfortable.

“I’m excited for this exhaustive list,” he said.

“I’ve met a lot of people in the Commonwealth. I’ve made a lot of friends. Hell, I have more friends now than I did in 2077. You know what sets you apart from most of these folks? You have your shit together. You always have. Set aside the chronic lying, which I called bullshit on immediately anyway, I never had to save your ass and I never had to fix your problems,” she said.

“That’s totally untrue,” he said. “If I hadn’t met you, I’d still be a complete fraud.”

“I didn’t fix that, Deacon. _You_ did,” she said. “I didn’t know anything about your past. One day, you just up and told me all that and changed how you acted.”

“Yeah sure, okay, but I’ve never trusted anyone the way I’ve trusted you. And without that trust, I wouldn’t have changed,” he said.

“Deacon, everyone in the Commonwealth trusts me. MacCready trusts me, look how much of his life I helped him sort out. Cait’s drug problem. Danse’s self-loathing. I literally saved Garvey from raiders. Valentine from Skinny Malone. I can go on,” she said. “But you? I didn’t have to do anything. We hung out a bunch and then _you_ decided you were going to change.”

He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her in closer as he considered what she said. Then, after a minute or so, he lowered his face to her neck. He nuzzled her at first, then gave her several exaggerated kisses along her jawline that made her break out into laughter.

“This is why people trust you,” he said, leaning her back in his arms. “You make them feel amazing. You don’t think you helped solve my problems, but I’m going to give you credit. Hell, you’re still doing it right now.”

She gave him a warm smile.

“You’ve always been reliable, Deacon. You’ve always made me happy. And I’ve never had to shoulder your personal burdens,” she said.

“Hey, even our traumas align,” he said. “My moon is widower, yours is in widow.”

“You’re an ass,” she said.

He flashed her his extremely charming grin. It was the type of smile that could have won him awards. He could have been in movies opposite Natalie Wood.

“You wanna roast some molerat over the fire, then go to bed?” he asked. “We gotta hike down to the Castle tomorrow, after all.”

She nodded and he laid several more kisses on her to get some cheap giggles. She didn’t mind. He could have as many as he wanted.

They took all day, enjoying the walk from Concord to the Castle, since there was no point in hurrying. When they arrived, she received the same warm welcome from Preston that she did from Sturges. He hugged her tightly and immediately began asking a thousand questions about what she had been doing and the last meal she ate.

“You’ll have to introduce me to your friend,” Preston said, turning to Deacon.

“Ah, come on, Garvey,” Deacon said as he pulled his sunglasses out from his pocket and put them on. “It’s me.”

“Deacon? Is that really you? I didn’t recognize you,” Preston said. 

“I still got it,” Deacon said, holding his arms out.

“That’s his _real hair_ ,” she said in a stage whisper.

“Get out,” Preston said with a chuckle. “I didn’t know he had real hair. Well, let’s put some food in you, General, and then we can pour some drinks and catch up on what you’ve missed while you’ve been away.” 

She patted his arm. 

“Sounds great,” she said.

“You guys don’t need me, do you?” Deacon asked. “For all that boring Minutemen stuff?”

“Make yourself at home,” Preston said. “There’s some fresh mirelurk if you want.”

Deacon gave them both finger guns and excused himself, but once he was far enough away, he turned and watched the two of them make their way to the General’s quarters, laughing and walking arm in arm. He was honest when he said he had no interest in Minutemen business, but part of him was hesitant to leave her with Garvey. He knew how sweet Garvey was on her. He knew how kind and affectionate she could be around her senior officer.

“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered to himself as he put his sunglasses away.

He found a beer and climbed up the walls, finding a good place to sit and watch the ocean. The hours went by and midnight neared before she finally found him and sat down next to him, a bottle of whiskey in her hand. She handed it to him and he took a long drink.

“I wondered where you were,” she said. “You could have come by. We stopped talking about Minutemen stuff ages ago.”

“I didn’t want to risk it,” he said. “So, I was thinking about last night, about how you straight out said you had feelings for me. And I didn’t tell you anything back.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” she said, taking the bottle from him.

“Because you’re wonderful. That’s not my point. My point is that I _do_ have feelings for you,” he said, turning to her.

She broke out into a huge smile, her entire face lighting up. She laughed once and then pointed at her smile.

“I feel like a fucking teenager,” she said as she felt herself turning pink. “Look at this.”

Unable to help himself, he leaned in and kissed her, but it didn’t last long. He had more to say. He sat back and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know what I was thinking when I started kissing you, that I could maintain any sense of boundaries. That I could just keep us best friends, like I’m some sort of ‘friends with benefits’ guy,” he said. “I’m not. I’m a sucker. I give my heart to someone and I’m fucked. Look at what happened the last time I gave my heart to a girl.”

“She’s still got it,” she said.

“Yeah, but it’s not her that's holding onto it. She didn’t take it to the grave with her. I buried it with her,” he said. “And I’m in the middle of unburying it. Like, right now, as we speak. So, you’re going to see me panic a whole bunch while I’m trying to figure out what to do with this crusty heart that hasn’t seen any sun for decades.”

“This really cascaded in the last few days, huh?” she asked.

“It’s been months in the making,” he said.

She took a swig from the bottle.

“I’ll agree with that.”

“So, question for you,” he said.

“Lay it on me.”

“Do you want to go downstairs and make out in your fancy General’s quarters like two teens who just admitted that they like each other?” he asked.

She stood up and offered him her hand, which he used to get to his feet. He linked his arm through hers and they made their way down the wall, then across the courtyard with laser-like focus. It took almost no time for them to have the doors to her quarters shut and locked behind them.

He snapped her up in his arms and kissed her, but this kiss was different from all of his previous lazy, meandering kisses. This one broadcasted all of his desire, making it obvious what he wanted, which startled her. She clutched his sleeves at first, not sure how to respond. Eventually, she responded in kind, her tongue finding his.

They bumped into the table as they moved across the room toward the bed, knocking several things over. By the time they got to the old queen bed, she had his shirt off. She had him on the mattress, her hands on his belt buckle as she admired him under her. He had a trim body, not overly muscular. He was built more for endurance than strength. In another life, he would have made an amazing dancer. 

“She knows what she wants,” he said, not getting in her way.

“She wants this gorgeous red-head,” she said.

“I don’t want to brag, but I’m pretty damn flexible,” he said.

“Yeah?” she asked as she yanked his jeans down, freeing his erection.

“Yeaohhh oh okay,” he said as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, her thumb running up along the underside of his head.

She pulled her own shirt over her head and then resumed toying with him, running her fingers along his head’s smooth skin, using the fluid that dotted his tip to lubricate the rest of his cock. He moaned as her hand closed around him again and began sliding up and down his length. She squeezed the inside of his thigh with her other hand and watched him, eating up the look on his face.

“Is there anything you like?” she asked.

“I like it all,” he said with a laugh. “Seriously. It’s been so long, you could do anything to me and I’d love it. Ahhh… which brings me to another point. It really has been _a long time_. I might get… excited.”

She leaned down and kissed him again.

“That whole born-again virgin thing wasn’t much of a joke, was it?” she teased.

“The good news is,” he said between her kisses, “that I still remember where the clitoris is.”

He sat up and tugged his boots off, then kicked his jeans off along with them. She took the opportunity to finish undressing as well and by the time he turned back around, she was leaning against all of the pillows, nude and waiting for him. His blue eyes glimmered at the sight.

“Who is the gorgeous one here?” he asked, crawling toward her.

She pulled him in and before he could object, swapped spots with him. She was between his legs on her hands and knees, her lips already on the base of his cock. With one hand, she gently pushed it up against his abdomen, then ran her tongue from the bottom of his shaft up to his head. Her other hand cupped his balls, her fingers gently tracing their shape.

He gripped her shoulder and made a desperate noise.

“Remember what I said about it being a long time?” he said. “If you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”

“After all this time, you’re planning on having only _one_ orgasm tonight?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Touché,” he said, nodding his head a few times. “Continue.”

When she wrapped her lips around his head and her tongue ran along its skin, his entire body began to ache from a place he had long forgotten. As she slid down his entire length, taking him completely into her mouth, his abdomen tightened. The sight was amazing, the sensation was unreal. A ragged moan escaped him as she began moving her mouth up and down him, deep throating with each bob of her head. She wasn’t toying with him--she meant to make him come.

His hand moved to the back of her neck, gripping it as he panted, feeling the tightness in his abdomen give way to a cascade of shudders when he couldn’t hold back any longer. In a hoarse voice, he repeated her name several times as she didn’t stop until he fell against the headboard, his hands pawing at her shoulders. Only then did she sit back on her heels and look at her handiwork.

“You are an _excellent_ best friend, you know that?” he asked with a weary smile. “Give me a few minutes. Then I’ll repay the favor.”

“Take your time,” she said.

She found them some water and brought it back to the bed, sharing it with him. He then pulled her down into the bed with him and began peppering her body with kisses, his affection not yet too urgent. Instead, he used his hands and mouth to explore the body his eyes had been appreciating for so long on their own. 

She cooed and rose to his touch, which encouraged him further. He had seemed confident, but part of him worried he might not actually be able to make her come. He was severely out of practice. The more she reacted, though, the more he wanted to do to her. It didn’t take long until his hand moved down between her legs, his fingers caressing the folds of her labia.

“Deacon,” she whispered.

Hearing her say his name was a rush, he loved it. It made him feel like the center of the universe. He’d do anything for her, he’d follow her to hell if she asked him to. He wanted her to say it more.

He pushed her legs wide and spread her labia with his fingers. Her clit was flushed and swollen, he couldn’t miss it. The visual made his skin tingle. He wasn’t ready yet, but he would be after he was done with her.

He ran his thumb along her clit, grazing it lightly, making her whimper. He did it again, just to hear her make that sound again. He teased her bud, not putting any pressure on it as he ran his fingers up and down along its length. She undulated her pelvis under his hands, trying to push her clit up into his fingers as he touched her, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Deacon,” she said, her voice pleading.

“This was your idea,” he said.

“ _What_?”

“You wanted me to have more than one orgasm tonight, right?” he asked. “Babe, I’m forty. So, I’m going to sit here and play with you until I’m ready again. Once I am, I’ll make you come, and then we can both have our second orgasm together.”

She let out a frustrated noise and put a pillow over her face.

“I did it to myself,” she said from beneath the pillow, her voice muffled.

He chuckled and pressed on her clit slightly, slipping the fingers of his other hand inside of her. His fingers were immediately wet, something that wasn’t unsurprising, but still caught him off guard just from how wet she was already. How wet he had made her. He pushed his fingers into her further and ran their tips along the top wall, feeling the soft skin. Her knees bounced up and down slightly as he continued this motion against the inside of her, getting more whines from her.

“ _Deacon_ ,” she murmured from under the pillow.

His cock was already responding to the show she was providing. It wouldn't be too much longer before he had a full erection again. He pulled his fingers out and sat closer to her, shifting his legs under his thighs so his groin was nearly flush with hers. He then pushed the head of his cock against her lips, gliding it between them until it glistened. Satisfied, he pushed his two fingers into her clit and began rubbing it.

She let out a low, wavering noise as he continued, his fingers finding an angle and speed that got the right reaction from her. She let the pillow fall from her face and her hands found his legs extended in her direction, grasping at them as he continued without breaking his rhythm.

"Oh fucking god," she groaned as her toes curled in on each other.

The next thing out of her weren't words--it was a loud cry as she pushed her body up into the air, breaking contact with his hand. Her cries turned into indistinguishable sounds as she mewed his name, repeating it over and over again. He knew he was fully hard again without looking because he felt his cock jump as she fell back onto the bed and writhed. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. 

He disentangled himself from her and kneeled between her legs. She was still in a state, not focused on him at all. He pushed his mouth to hers and at the same time, the head of his cock inside of her. When she snaked her arms around him, he slid the rest of his length into her and felt her quiver around him, her orgasm still coursing through her body. He had to pause, she felt so goddamn wonderful.

"Dammit woman," he said. "You're going to make me come again."

"Isn't that the point?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.

Hugging her chest to his, he resumed kissing her, his thrusts slow to start. He wanted to enjoy feeling every inch of her around him. When her own muscles quieted, he picked up his pace, rocking his lower body against hers. He alternated between long, full thrusts, working his entire length in and out of her, and short, fast ones, rubbing the most sensitive parts of his cock up against the tighter parts of her pussy.

After a while, she ran her hand between their bodies and pressed her fingers into her clit. He sat up slightly, removing some of his weight from her, but didn't go far. He didn't want to let her go, which made it hard to rub her clit, but being able to apply pressure went a long way as he pounded himself into her. She did what she could with just her fingers and his body weight. To her delight, she felt the tension well up behind her fingers faster than she expected.

Her breath caught in her throat as the orgasm rushed up on her. It was less powerful than the first, but still caused her to contract around him. When he realized what was happening, he faltered and moaned, burying his face in her neck. As the spasms rippled through her, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist much longer.

"Where do you want me to finish?" he asked, his mouth on her ear.

"Inside," she said, practically a demand.

"Are you sure?"

"It's okay."

He didn't need any further convincing. He leaned his weight into her and slammed himself into her a few final times, growling as he lost all control. With his final thrust, he buried himself deep inside of her, his whole body clenching as he came. He then went limp with a loud groan, collapsing on top of her as shivers ran down his back. His skin was damp to the touch.

She let him lie there for a bit, stroking his hair absent-mindedly. She was still in a bit of a daze herself, her body feeling numb from everything. At a certain point, she patted his head and he came to, rolling off of her.

They were quiet for a while, but she eventually rolled onto her side to look at him. He turned his head and looked back, wearing a very relaxed, gratified expression.

"For the record, I had an IUD inserted after having Shaun," she said. "It's two hundred and eleven years old at this point, but I have at least another nine on it."

"That's birth control?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"Well shit," he said with a smile. "Not that I think we'd make bad parents."

"Deacon, we don't have to have that conversation right now, don't worry," she said.

"Thank god," he said, visibly relieved.

"One thing at a time. Right now, let's enjoy the 'we figured out how to get each other naked' stage of our relationship," she said.

He curled an arm under her and tugged her into his side. They kissed for a moment, his other hand resting on her stomach.

"When we get home, let's invest in togas. No more pants and boots," he said.

"Sure. Grape leaves and olive oil, too," she said.

"We're going to need _lots_ of olive oil," he said, squeezing her tight.

"You're an ass," she said.

"Yep. I'm your ass," he said. "You can't get rid of me."

**Author's Note:**

> ❤~[Deacon is a secret redhead if you grow his hair out in SLM](https://imgur.com/a/bIdBvVF)~❤


End file.
